


Vacillate

by hipbonesofChrist, mr_quartermaster



Category: James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brainwashing, Kidnapping, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22320925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hipbonesofChrist/pseuds/hipbonesofChrist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mr_quartermaster/pseuds/mr_quartermaster
Summary: vac·il·late(verb)“to alternate or waver between different opinions or actions.”Q is the Quartermaster. His job is to sit at a desk, controlling field agents from behind the scenes. He’s not cut out for undercover work.And yet, when presumed-dead agents begin curiously resurfacing, that’s exactly what he finds himself doing, infiltrating a secret organization all on his own. During his stay, he finds much more than he bargained for, and he is forced to battle both sinister supervisors, and the consequences of the important, impossible decisions he must make.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39
Collections: 2019-2020 00Q Reverse Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is gifted to our incredible artist, @10kiaoi! Check them out on their Tumblr: https://10kiaoi.tumblr.com

Q had been doing this for ages, now. It was always the same. If not for the cheap calendar over his bed, he would have completely lost track of the days--weeks--months--he’d been down here, in this god-forsaken facility, looking for MI6 agents that were, by all accounts, probably dead.

_No, don’t think that way._

Shutting the alarm off on his phone, Q sat up, cutting that train of thought short before it could snowball into outright hopelessness. There was no way M would have let his Quartermaster go undercover, infiltrate this place, if he didn’t think there was something to his research. And he _had_ done his research, hadn’t he? Bucketfuls of it. Hell, he’d been _sure_ of what was going on, back when he started. He’d been convinced that he had it all figured out, and pretty damned proud of himself too, having solved the case without a Double-O agent so much as glancing at it.

Swinging his legs out of bed, Q went about his morning routine in a sort of sleepwalking repetition. Shower, brush his teeth, put on the same starched shirt he wore every day, and the same uncomfortable vest over it. What he wouldn’t give for one of his soft cardigans…but he was no longer the sweater-loving Quartermaster, he reminded himself. He had ceased to be himself about two and a half months ago, when he’d gone properly undercover. Now, he was Kai Masiteri, faceless employee of The Languidis Corporation, and he wasn’t supposed to like anything except reporting to his superiors.

“Masiteri!”

_Speaking of my superiors—_ Q started as the comm system blared to life, crackling in a way that made the young man grit his teeth. He could have fixed their audio problem in a second...but things didn’t work that way here. They had _engineers_ for that, and he himself was a _researcher_ , and the two could apparently never overlap. Everything was fixed, set in a certain, specific spot. Q almost could have appreciated it, the machinated workings of this sinister corporation…had it not been for the fact that, as Q had often lamented, men were not machines. And he was going out of his mind with boredom. He missed his two cats, and his cozy flat. He hoped they were doing alright without him, even though he knew that Moneypenny would be dropping by every other day to check on them.

“ _Kai Masiteri_!”

Q had been so busy wondering whether the cats had broken anything in the flat that he had forgotten to respond to the intercom. Quickly crossing the room to it, he pressed the well-worn button and tried not to think about all the men who’d no doubt done it before.

“Masiteri, reporting.”

The name was still unfamiliar to him, even after a couple months, but Q was quite proud of the alias he had formed for himself. It had taken him at least two weeks to come up with something ingenious enough for MI6’s Quartermaster to use. 

_Kai Masiteri._

_Quartermaster._

Same word, different languages. 

Since simply translating his title to another language would’ve been a dead giveaway, Q had translated it into every single language in existence and _then_ split it into two words, taking bits and pieces from the languages he liked the most and—he thought—made up the most decent name. It was drastically different from his everyday aliases, which centred around the letter Q, and only served to remind him of the comfortable life he’d forsaken. 

“Report quicker next time.” The voice on the other end reprimanded sharply, and Q bit back a sigh, almost missing the way M yelled at him.

“Yes, sir.” Q had to lean close in order to be heard over the static of the building’s faulty communication system.

“Report to your supervisor’s office.”

That command brought Q up short; he’d never heard it before. In the weeks he’d been here, he’d been commanded to go to one place or another, but never to his supervisor. A cold chill gripped him, and he tried not to let his voice shake as he answered, “Yes, sir.” He fought to keep his mind clear, to not pay any attention to the thought that terrified him. Maybe, if he ignored it, it couldn’t be true...

_Have I been found out?_

Surely, he tried to reason as he fixed his unruly hair in the cracked mirror on the wall, they would not be so polite about it. But he honestly didn’t know. The one thing he was certain of was, this organisation did not go by the book. Who knew what they did to spies—what would they do to a lowly researcher?

Taking a deep breath, which was supposed to be cleansing, but which was instead hopelessly ineffective, Q ran a hand through his hair again, and tried to stop his hands from shaking. Damnit, he wasn’t cut out for this. He was the _Quartermaster_ , for God’s sake! He was...he was stuck in this now, no matter what. He didn’t get a choice.

“Pull yourself together,” he breathed to himself in the mirror, straightening his shirt. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

With that, Q steeled himself, pulled his door open with an ominous-sounding _clank_ , and stepped out of it, walking briskly down the fluorescent-lit hallway.

* * * * * 

“Ma’am?”

That was the Quartermaster two and a half months ago, pulling up a CCTV video from the previous week. M loomed over his shoulder, brows furrowed in distaste. Normally, she wouldn’t think twice about Q questioning her orders, she was used to the young man’s insolence, but on this day, she had no patience for it.

“Just do as you’re asked, Q.” She responded sharply. Q gave a glare, but obeyed nonetheless. The video began playing, and Q skimmed it for a moment before inevitably opening his mouth again.

“Perhaps it would help if you told me what we’re looking for.”

“Who.”

“Pardon?” Q furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and looked back at the woman standing behind him.

“It’s not _what_ we’re looking for, but _who_ we’re looking for.” The old woman replied, pursing her lips tightly as her eyes scanned the recording.

“There.” Q paused the video as soon as she spoke, squinting at the blurry figure on the screen. He still seemed confused, and when he amplified the image and realised what they were looking at, his confusion only grew.

“But that’s—the date on the recording has to be wrong. That’s agent Bailey, ma’am. She’s…”

Q didn’t even want to finish the sentence. He recalled the day in which they lost the agent all too clearly. Those two gunshots resonating over the comms still haunted the young Quartermaster even now, featuring in his dreams on bad nights.

“Dead, yes. Or at least that’s what we thought until she showed up—very much alive—last week.” M said, her voice failing to show a single ounce of sympathy, or even mild interest.

But then again, when had she shown any kind of compassion towards her agents? Q had to remind himself not to feel offended by that. The woman had just seen too many years in the service, he told himself instead. Perhaps one day he would be like that…cold and heartless.

Q shook his head, chasing the thought away before he focused once more on the puzzling information in front of him. 

“We buried her.”

“Buried an empty casket, you mean. Her body was never retrieved,” M corrected as she took a step away from him, shoving her hands into her coat pockets and taking a deep breath. Tanner, standing behind her, met her eyes, looking just as puzzled as Q felt.

“But—“ Q persisted. “She wasn’t _presumed_ dead. Agent Bailey was—was quite literally dead. We heard her die, and had surveillance—”

“I’m well aware of that, Q.” M snapped, and Q shut his mouth, although he was burning with curiosity at that point. Unfortunately for him, M didn’t seem inclined to explain. She stared at the CCTV footage for a moment longer, tapping her foot in a clipped rhythm that drove Q crazy, although he often did the same thing with his leg.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Within this chapter, you'll find the artwork that sparked the idea for this entire fic! In case it doesn't load, here's the link:
> 
> https://66.media.tumblr.com/6c0fdd1da39c8349e74f5216e3813884/cb63e9a5b8a05fbe-70/s1280x1920/486b2bfb815a6bd4c5aecbd8eb39366b306e3b2b.gifv

Walking to the Supervisor’s office, Q felt like he was marching down death row, a man already condemned. He stepped into the elevator that began to climb, taking him to the higher floors. This building was arranged just as unfairly as the hierarchy of this organization was; the superiors on top, the lowly scientists and researchers in the basement levels. It almost reminded Q of MI6, except much more sinister, more divided. Stepping out of the elevator and walking down the hallway, Q was all too aware of just how alone he was here, worlds away from M and Tanner, from his cats and cardigans. He wanted badly to go back, but no, he couldn’t think that way. If he let himself reminisce, grow emotional, all would be lost. He didn’t have very much undercover training, but he knew that much.

The elevator doors eventually opened, and Q stepped out of them, the hallway he was currently in feeling cold. At the very end of it was the office, but as he walked, he squinted, and could see the woman standing just outside her closed office door. His heart leapt to his throat, and his palms became damp--what was this?

“Ma’am.” He greeted the woman as he neared her, trying not to reveal his apprehension. She simply inclined her head, her lips pursed in a way that told Q she thought of him as nothing more than an object made to follow her orders.

“Masiteri.” She finally said dryly, as he waited and resisted the urge to fidget nervously. “Follow me.” She began walking back towards the elevator, and Q’s brows furrowed. _Why would she have me come to her if we were just going back downstairs?_ This was the top floor, after all. After another moment of consideration, he assumed it could only be some sort of show of dominance--she wasn’t going to stoop to his level, he had to go to her.

“Are you coming?” She snapped, and Q yanked himself out of his thoughts and made his feet start moving, walking down the hallway once again and standing at a polite distance from the woman in the elevator. The small space hadn’t felt quite so cramped when Q had ridden in it alone.

The doors slid shut silently, and Q couldn’t help thinking, _If my cover’s been blown, if she’s going to kill me, this is the perfect place. There’s no escape._ As the supervisor reached into her pocket, searching for something, Q braced himself for what surely was the inevitable...but when she drew her hand out, it held a ring of keys within it. Stepping forwards, towards the rows of buttons on the wall of the elevator, she slid a key into the keyhole there, turning it decisively. Nothing seemed to happen. Above the buttons, there was a screen showing the number of each floor as they slid past it. 8...7...6...

_What did the key do?_

Q refrained from asking, as the woman already seemed not to like him just on the principle of corporate hierarchy. Instead, he watched the screen, wondering where it would stop. The first floor? The basement?

3...2...1...B…

Soon enough, Q found out what the key must have done. To his knowledge--and according to the buttons on the elevator--there was only one basement level. However, even as the LEDs on the screen read **B** , the elevator slid down one more time, down much farther than before, to a secret, second basement. As the contraption smoothly stopped, the doors beginning to open, Q felt a strange thrill go through him. _Is this what Double-Os feel on their missions?_ He thought.

“Follow me.” The supervisor, unaware of Q’s sudden mixed feelings of triumph, of determination and nerves, began walking off, and Q hurried to follow her. He was in it now, he told himself. He could feel it in his bones--whatever he was looking for, it was here.

  
  


* * * * * 

The floor of the hallway they walked down was concrete, but the walls and ceiling were strangely...craggy, as if the elevator doors had opened onto some sort of underground cave. How far down were they? The rock formations overhead were a brownish-red that matched the walls, and up ahead, Q could see, the hallway opened into a larger room, one with a wide window at the far end of it. Through that lay a fairly small lake, and then the mouth of the cave, sunlight and trees just peeking through. Q nearly tripped over his feet staring at that--it had been weeks since he’d seen anything of the sort, any natural formations at all. He considered himself quite a modernist, but after months, he craved the sight of something not cold, metal and man-made.

To avoid irritating the supervisor even more, Q tore his eyes away from the sight out the window, just in time to realise that she had stopped walking. He narrowly avoided treading on her toes as he stopped as well, and then looked up towards something on the wall that he’d not yet seen.

His green eyes widened in surprise and horror.

The body may have been stark naked, unconscious, and floating in some sort of tube Q could make neither heads nor tails of—technology was his forte, not biology—but Q recognized the man as soon as he laid eyes on him. He had to call upon every ounce of self-control he had to keep his face impassive as he asked, “Wh--Who is this?”

“21.” His supervisor told him, as if that actually meant something to Q. Then, abruptly, she thrusted a tablet into his hands, with something like a medical report on the screen. But no matter what that report, or this woman, said about his name, Q knew the truth. This blond-haired specimen before him was the infamous James Bond, both the savior of MI6, and it’s main source of chaos...at least, before Moneypenny shot him down in Istanbul. Q had never met the man, but he was something of a legend around the office. But to find him here…

“He’s your new task,” the woman added in a monotone, breaking Q out of his astonished reverie.

“Task, ma’am?” _Just what were they trying to accomplish, here?_

“You’ve been a researcher for...what, two months now?” She asked mildly. “There are some who thought your...potential might be better suited to other things.” The pause in her sentence seemed to indicate that she wasn’t one of the people that thought so, and Q’s pride stung for a moment. “So, he’s your new task. Your job is to interview him, test his vitals, make sure he’s retained all of his tactical training.”

Q tried his best not to stare in disbelief. His new task was...James Bond? “What do you mean, retained…?”

The woman seemed annoyed, to say the least. “I keep forgetting,” she huffed. “You haven’t been properly briefed.” For a moment, Q wondered if he would ever get proper briefing—it could be useful, when he finally reported back to his actual superiors, but it seemed like he was getting the shortened version.

“These are weapons.” She motioned to the rows of tanks lining the wall, some occupied, some not. Q couldn’t see into the others very clearly, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he would recognize a few of the bodies floating in them. “They’ve been rescued from the brink of death, their memories have been blocked, and they work for us now.”

Well. That explained agent Bailey.

“Just make sure he’s fit for duty.” She added, as if Q still hadn’t gotten it.

He looked up at the ex-Double-O once again before something occurred to him. “Is there—Is there any chance he could remember?” Q asked, making an effort to sound more worried than hopeful.

The woman scowled at him, setting her hands on her hips. “Should that happen, you’re obligated to report it, understood?”

For a moment, the woman looked almost as intimidating as M herself and Q could only nod quickly. “Understood.” 

There was a tense moment in which all she did was look into his eyes and all he did was swallow hard and tug at his vest, hoping to get out of there as soon as possible. Finally, she stepped away from him and towards the capsule, deftly pressing a couple keys on the pad before stepping back and watching the fluid levels slowly start to decrease. 

“All you need is in there.” She said, vaguely motioning towards the tablet in Q’s hands. “He’ll be ready for you in about two hours. As for the room number, you’ll receive a notification once he’s inside.”

The young man glanced down at the tablet, quickly scanning through the file, and hurried to nod. This new assignment was so much more confusing than he ever thought it would be. Ironically though, this new assignment seemed to be the answer to everything he’d come here to find out.

“Why don’t you go now and take a look at that in the meantime? You’ll need it.” His supervisor finally said, doing a very bad job at unsubtly trying to get him out of the way.

He pursed his lips and took one last look at the blond in the tank before muttering a soft “Yes, ma’am,” and heading out of the room.

It wasn’t until Q was alone in his own quarters again that he let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even further. Of all the things he could’ve imagined they were up to, this was the last option he would have ever considered. They were turning other organisation’s agents into their own personal weapons. How twisted was that? Even after seeing what he’d seen in MI6, the cruelty of humans always surprised him.

He sat down slowly on the hard mattress and pulled up the blond’s file on the tablet once again, taking his time to read every detail within it. If any man could be called a weapon, it was James Bond. His name echoed in the hallways of MI6 even months after his supposed demise. Everyone knew of his reputation as a Double-O.

If they had really managed to erase every last trace of the man he once was, leaving only what essentially made him deadly... that was something to be very afraid of.


	3. Chapter 3

“Ma’am?” Q knocked softly on M’s door, calling her attention away from one of Tanner’s eternal morning reports.

“Q. Come in. Tanner was just leaving.” The woman said as she gestured towards the chair across from her, currently occupied. Tanner looked between the two in confusion for a moment, before finally getting the message and standing up, a sour look on his face.

“Indeed, I was just…leaving.” Before he could even finish his sentence, Q crossed the room in a few long steps, barely able to contain his excitement, and took his seat in front of M. “Don’t mind me.” Tanner murmured as he finally headed out, the sound of his footsteps echoing throughout the hallway at a clipped pace before cutting off as the door shut completely.

Q waited for the door to shut, for complete privacy, before he set down a tablet on the desk and pushed it towards the older woman. “I’ll do it.”

“Pardon?” She frowned, carefully pushing her Royal Doulton bulldog figure out of the way in order to take a good look at what her Quartermaster was handing her.

“Going undercover.” He clarified, nodding eagerly. “I’ll do it.”

M stared at the young man for a moment or two, trying to figure out what in the world he was thinking. Then, she simply sighed, mostly in disappointment. “Q.” She had expected more from him than to have the bespectacled genius barge into her office to offer to go undercover. “I thought you would have figured out by now that that’s the kind of job for a field agent, not our Quartermaster.”

“But–”

“No ‘buts’. I’m not sending you there. You wouldn’t last a day.” She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. The young man took a deep breath and nodded, slowly getting up from the chair and gathering up his tablet.

“Right…” He murmured before pursing his lips and turning around, resignedly making his way to the door. There was no way he would be able to change her mind. And perhaps she was right—going there  _ was _ simply suicide, to someone with little field training. But...

_ No. _

Q stopped and shook his head slowly. This wasn’t right. Were the simple words of an old woman going to dissuade him? If this corporation was somehow locating presumed-dead agents, forcing them to work for another organisation, that was an injustice both to them, and to MI6. But more than that, it was a mystery...and Q couldn’t, or wouldn’t, just sit on the sidelines for that.

Behind him, M’s brows furrowed. She’d had enough people in her office that, over the years, she’d come to be able to tell when they would fight her on an issue. And Q did, indeed, intend to fight, or at least insist very strongly.

  
  


* * * * *

  
  


Sitting straight-backed on the only chair in the room, his blue eyes scanning the blank, white walls, the weapon did his best to stay vigilant. He felt cold, vaguely disoriented. But all that was left in his mind was protocol, and that told him that he mustn’t show any vulnerability.

He knew—although he didn’t know  _ how _ he knew—that he wasn’t in any immediate danger, but still he looked around for weapons he could use, exits he could take. There was nothing else in the room save a table and another chair across from him, and only one door, that looked reinforced. The red light on a camera in the upper corner of the room blinked lazily at him, but who was behind the monitor, he hadn’t the faintest idea. 

How had he gotten here? What was he doing before this?  _ Who  _ had he been before this? He didn’t know, but then, it wasn’t his place to ask questions. It was his place to follow orders, and so he would wait for some to be given to him.

Q had been standing behind that monitor for long enough, trying to gather all his courage before walking into that room. He had heard many things about James Bond from many different people, but most of them always concluded on one thing: the man was deadly. Or at least he had been until Moneypenny had taken him out. Looking at him now, Q could agree with all of them. He shivered every time those cold blue eyes looked up at the camera, as if they were looking straight at him.

Finally, he forced himself to calm down and remember his mission. He had to do his job and this would help him get more information on what these people were doing.

He grabbed his tablet, adjusted his glasses, took a deep breath and slowly opened the door that led to the pristine room. He tried not to look too much at Bond—at the weapon—as he made a beeline for the chair across from him and sat down. The weapon’s eyes followed him the entire way. There was no chance that this skinny, bespectacled man could ever pose a threat, he thought. Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t smart. The weapon knew better than to underestimate anyone. He couldn’t remember how he’d learned that lesson, but he knew it was a good rule to follow.

After carefully setting the device down on the table, Q finally looked up, meeting Bond’s harsh gaze. He was lost for a moment, trying to find the right words, but it was so hard when all he kept thinking about was that less than two hours ago that man had been floating in a tank, as if in some kind of suspended animation.

The weapon stared back at the stranger for a long moment, waiting for him to say something. He assumed this man had some authority over him, some orders to give him. When he said nothing, though, the man’s eyes flashed with something like annoyance.

“What—” He tried to speak, anticipating his voice coming out stern, impatient. But wherever he was before, however long he was in there, it must have been a long time since he’d spoken. His voice was hoarse, and it threw him off for a moment. He stopped, closing his mouth as if he was an automaton shutting down, and cleared his throat deliberately before trying again.

“What are my orders?” His voice was still gravelly, but better.

“I—Uhm…” Q was thrown off by the question and his own voice lacked any kind of authority that he probably requested in amount like that one. He stopped and cleared his throat, mirroring the blond perhaps only to gain more time and think of a good response that would make him sound like an actual leader and not like the clown they had decided to throw into the lion’s cage.

“You will answer all of my questions.” He stated, sounding much better this time. He looked the weapon sitting across from him in the eye and felt his breath hitch in his throat. “Shall we get started?” The boffin muttered quietly, raising his eyebrows slightly.

The weapon didn’t answer for a long moment, just staring at the man with such intensity that it was like he was looking straight through him. Finally, he spoke. “You’re not my superior, are you?”

Q pursed his lips and huffed quietly. Bond’s words hurt his pride more than he cared to admit. “I am.” He replied, if not firmly, then cockily at least.

He had talked to agents and Double-Os hundreds of times, but why was this so difficult?

“You don’t act like it.” The weapon retorted. It wasn’t sarcastic, but then, the man sitting opposite him wasn’t Bond, not anymore. 

Q frowned deeply and leaned forward slightly. “And how exactly is your superior supposed to act? Mm?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

James hardly knew who he was, outside of a man-made weapon, but he knew how a superior was supposed to act. “Confident,” he replied flatly. “Sure of themselves. Stern.”

The young man looked down as he scoffed. “This is stupid.” Q murmured, shaking his head. “I’m your superior. End of the discussion.” He hoped that would be enough to convince himself that he was the one giving orders, even if he wasn’t sure he believed it.

James’s cold stare didn’t waver. Once, he would have cracked jokes, lightened the situation with sarcasm. But none of that James remained now. “Then what are my orders?” He repeated.

Q took a deep breath, deciding to just go with what he had planned. “What is your name?” He asked instead, fixing his bright green eyes on the weapon. However, he didn’t get the result he wanted by doing that. The blond leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest, simply watching Q like a tiger would calmly watch his prey before pouncing on them. The way his eyes rested on him made Q shudder lightly.

Something was telling him that this would be even harder than he initially expected.

  
  


* * * * *

One miserable hour later, Q stepped out of the room and looked around, almost expecting his supervisor to be standing outside, but instead he found himself alone. There was no one waiting to see if he had made any progress, or wanting to scold him for messing up, for not being able to glean any information from the annoyingly stoic agent. That brought him a small sense of relief, but he didn’t allow himself to truly relax until he was back in his room.

Taking his laptop out from where it was stashed, underneath his mattress for safety, he used it to quickly hack into the CCTV, wondering, if no one was physically standing there to monitor him, where did the camera footage go?

Locating the file that seemed to correspond with the room he was in, Q clicked on it, wanting to look back at what had happened in that room between him and the weapon. When the file opened, though, he realised something odd: there was no sound in the footage. 

“Really?” Q muttered, closing the file before opening it again. Nothing. Q triple checked and frowned, deciding to leave the recordings alone for the moment.

So they were  _ watching _ , but no one was  _ listening _ …odd. Unless they kept the audios in an entirely different place, which was unlikely, but not entirely impossible. He would have to be careful while he figured that out. For now, it looked like his sleuthing was over for the moment; the alarm that went off on the small smart watch they had given him upon arriving at the facilities, was telling him that it was time to head to the canteen for dinner. Q shut down his laptop and quickly hid it back under his mattress, before slipping his shoes back on and stepping out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

It was the third session, and Q had it down to a science...is what Q desperately wished he was able to say. In truth, he hadn’t gotten much farther than he had that very first session. It was a small blessing that no one watched over or listened to these sessions, or Q was sure he’d be fired, or worse...but he couldn’t keep making no progress forever. Sooner or later, his supervisor expected results.

Which was a shame, really, because today, James didn’t seem particularly forthcoming.

Well, he never was, but today especially. Q ran through an entire list of questions without receiving so much as a grunt of recognition from the brainwashed agent.

“Did you have any dreams last night?”

“...”

“If you did, perhaps you could tell me about them?”

“...”

“What did you eat today? Did you like it?”

“...”

Q was running out of both patience, and questions. The tablet in his hands was beginning to grow heavy, and reflected in the black screen--for he hadn’t had much cause to write anything down for ages—was his own helpless, irritated face.

“Do you want to say  _ anything  _ to me?” He finally asked, a tone of snarkiness slipping through his calm professionalism. James, as always, stayed frustratingly stoic.

“You don’t understand.” Q tried another tactic. “I don’t know what they’ll do to me if I don’t make progress with this!” He hissed to James, and his heart leapt in his chest when the spy actually opened his mouth to answer. His heart dropped again when all he simply said was, “I still do not believe that you’re my superior.” Q wanted to rip his hair out, but at least that was something. Picking the tablet up and watching as the screen blinked back to life, he scribbled down, ‘Paranoid? Skeptical, at the very least.’

“And why not?” Q said after a moment, determined to hold onto that thread of conversation. This time, definite progress--James scoffed, his icy eyes looking Q up and down.

“You still have spots.” 

Q’s face soured, and James was silent again, and the rest of the session didn’t go much better than that.

* * * * *

‘Fourth session,’ Q wrote down. ‘Subject seems just as unwilling to talk as the previous sessions.’

James leaned forwards slightly, trying to peer at Q’s tablet. He seemed inquisitive today, but Q was wary. He didn’t trust the emotions of a field agent, even a brainwashed one. You never knew what they could really be plotting, behind those cold, curious blue eyes.

“What, today you want to know what’s going on?” Q snapped, pulling the tablet closer to himself. The patience he’d wasted on the test subject yesterday still had not returned, it seemed. James, to Q’s irritation, just looked rather amused. Q had a sneaking suspicion that the supervisor had given him this impossible task on purpose.

Q looked down at his tablet again. “If you want to know what’s going on, then bloody say something,” he grumbled miserably.

“I know what’s going on.”

Q looked up, his expression faintly surprised at that. “Y-you do?”

“Yes.” James leaned forwards almost conspiratorially, and Q did the same, the fact that he was quite literally risking his neck to do so only a minor warning in his mind. He was going stir-crazy here, in this facility, in this infuriatingly white room, and if James knew something, well...he wanted to hear it.

“You don’t have to whisper.” He told James, meeting his blue eyes. “They’re not listening to us, I checked.”

James didn’t answer—there was something dangerous in his eyes, something that made Q nervous, although he didn’t know why. Swallowing hard, he went to pull away from the weapon...but James was quicker than him, and in a flash he had his hands wrapped around the tablet, trying to yank it away from Q. The young Quartermaster gave a shout of surprise, half-rising from his seat to desperately try and pull the tablet back, but of course, James was stronger, and as Q’s grip gave out he fell backwards and nearly out of the chair altogether, humiliated and red in the face.

“Bloody hell, James!”

There was a sudden silence in the room, and Q’s eyes widened as he realised what he’d just said. James seemed to realise it too, and his eyes shone with the first spark of recognition that Q had seen as of yet.

_ James…? _

_ Who was that? Was that him? _

_ Maybe it was...but why was he unsure? How had he forgotten his entire name? No last name was coming to mind...had he ever had one at all? _

James had taken the tablet from Q in the hopes of gleaning some information about himself, but it sat forgotten in his hands as he froze, his eyes wide. Q looked similarly shocked, both at what he’d said and at James’ reaction to it. He had his suspicions about what was going through the other man’s head right now, but...it couldn’t be that easy, could it? Undoing what was done to him?

_ James...he’d been called that by so many people he didn’t remember, in so many situations he couldn’t recall. Snatches of them came to his mind--his name slipping from the lips of a gorgeous woman, sounding sultry and beautiful...another woman calling his name urgently, his...not his girlfriend, but perhaps a partner? He could tell they were close, and cared for each other. _

_Another women_ — _so many women, James reflected—but this time, an older one. Not his mother, he couldn’t remember his mother...but she said his name with gravity, as if she didn’t often address him by his first name. This woman, whoever she was, cared deeply for James, and he for her...but why? How?_

“...James?” Q chanced again. This seemed to snap the older man back into himself, and he faced Q with a fierce expression.

“Who is she?” He demanded, moving his hand out of the way when Q tried to snatch the tablet back.

“Who is  _ who _ ?”

“The woman!” James snapped, fingers tightening on the tablet. “Did she do this to me?” He suddenly got up from his chair and Q immediately did the same, quickly taking a step back and away from the man. “Did she?” James insisted.

“What woman? What are you even talking about?” Q asked, even though he had his suspicions of who James was talking about.

“The old woman!” The blond hissed, gripping the tablet so hard Q swore he would break it. “She’s my superior, I can tell she is!” He took a threatening step towards Q, who backed away once again. “Why did she have this done to me?”

Even through Q’s fear, he just couldn’t let that stand, couldn’t let James think that M was responsible for scrambling his brain.

“She—she didn’t!”

James looked at Q, his eyes seeming to pierce right through him. Despite the coldness in them, there was fear, anxiety. He could hide his emotions expertly, but Q had been around spies long enough to be able to tell that James was on the brink of panic.

“Then who is she?” He demanded, not relinquishing his white-knuckled grip on the tablet. Q sighed—how to even begin to explain all this?

“Her name is M.” He paused to see if that awoke any new memories in James, but he seemed just as attentive as ever. “She’s the head of MI6–and your superior, you’re right.”

“I work for MI6.” James said under his breath. It did explain a few things about himself, he reasoned. “So is that where we are? MI6?”

Q shook his head, a ball of anxiety growing in his chest. If James thought that MI6 would do something like this, then his memories were more buried than Q initially thought. “We’re at the Languidis Corporation. They’re the ones that did this to you.” After a clueless look from James— _ do what to me? _ —Q elaborated. “Took your memories, locked you up here…”

James nodded grimly, and then that dangerous look came into his eyes again. “Are you one of the people that took my memories?” He asked Q threateningly. The young man was quick to shake his head.

“No! I’m—“ He automatically patted his pockets for identification, before remembering that he had nothing on his body that identified him as MI6’s Quartermaster. “Bloody hell, I work for MI6, but I’m undercover.”

As Q expected, James didn’t look any calmer. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Q closed his eyes for a moment, a soft sigh slipping through his lips. “Y-you don’t.” He admitted, voice wavering. James gave a grim nod, a wordless ‘ _ I thought so _ ’ that turned Q’s ears pink with humiliation. He racked his brain for something, anything that might convince James to trust him...and amazingly, his flustered mind was able to come up with something.

“Wait—listen.” He stammered to James, holding his hands out as if in surrender. “Your memories...I can help you explain them. I can help you remember more.” The older man’s blue eyes met Q’s wide green eyes, and Q felt as if he was being taken apart and looked through, like he could have no secrets from James. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be trained like that—to know every muscle in someone’s face, every nuance in someone’s voice, to be able to tell in a few moments what their true emotions are.

“You can.” James finally said, and it wasn’t a question, but a statement. “But why?”

“I want to help you.” Q blurted before he could think. “I—“ He stammered, getting ahead of himself, but the words flowed from his mouth anyways. “I want to help you escape.”

“Did you know me?” James asked. Q understood his line of questioning—what did a person like Q stand to gain from freeing James? Especially when James didn’t even fully understand what he was being freed from yet?

“I mean…” Q rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn’t exactly go with  _ ‘Not personally, but I’ve heard wonders of you’  _ now, could he?

“...something like that.” The young man replied vaguely, looking away momentarily. “But that doesn’t matter. I’m here to free all of our captured operatives.”

James nodded slowly—he understood now. It wasn’t that he was special, Q just had orders to follow. His iron grip on the tablet slowly started loosening and James’s expression seemed to denote something akin to disappointment. Q couldn’t help but wonder why. After all, he’d just told James that he wanted to help him escape. The man was hardly in a position to be ungrateful.

“I won’t tell anyone that you’ve started to remember if you don’t tell them who I really am.” Q said slowly, watching James sit down once more. He approached cautiously and took his seat across from him once again. “Do we have a deal?”

James’s blue eyes seemed to take him apart all over again, leaving Q feeling rather naked and vulnerable. But finally, to Q’s relief, he gave a terse nod. “Deal.”

* * * * *

Six times they had sat in that small, white, sterile room across from each other and for at least the same amount of hours, Q had tried to communicate with James or at least learn more about the state of his mind, only to be turned down nine out of ten times.

Bond, on the other hand, had spent those six sessions mostly in absolute silence, just watching Q grow more and more frustrated, which was oddly entertaining for him. Perhaps the loss of his memories had turned him crueler, he reflected.

The ghost of a smile formed on the blond’s lips as he watched the younger man groan loudly and bury his face in his hands.

“I swear to God, James—”

After their breakthrough, Q had expected the agent to start helping him or at least cooperating in order to help him figure out how he would get them out of there. But no, James was just as stubborn as ever.

“Alright, fine.” Q sat back on his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring the ex-Double-O, who simply raised an eyebrow in amusement.

Their eyes met and the two stared at each other for a long time, neither of them willing to budge.

And finally…

“What’s your name?”

Q couldn’t help but scoff. Scoff and then laugh because honestly this was ridiculous. Days of silence and those were his first words? But that was better than nothing.

“Q.”

“That is not a name.” It did sound familiar though. James was certain he had met a Q before, not this kid though.

“Well, I could tell you my real name, but then I’d have to kill you.” Q replied teasingly and chuckled softly before realising that James had gone completely serious. He covered up his laugh with a soft cough and cleared his throat awkwardly. “...Everyone calls me Q.” He muttered quietly, looking down at his hands as he fidgeted with the tablet’s pen.

“Why Q?” James lowered his arms and cocked sideways. He was genuinely interested in the young man sitting across from him. For once, because he didn’t really look like the type of person MI6 would send on an undercover mission.

“It’s short for Quartermaster.”

The agent froze suddenly, eyes wide as a bunch of memories started flooding back into him.

_ An old man in a lab coat scolding him for breaking something. A Walther PPK. A very special Aston Martin DB5.  _

“Bond…?” Q had gotten up from his chair and crouched down to look for James’s eyes, who was slowly coming back to the present. “It happened again, didn’t it?”

James blinked slowly and raised his head, taking a deep breath as he nodded. “Yes…” He breathed out almost inaudibly.

Q swallowed hard before letting go of the pen and grabbing his chair. He dragged it over to James’s side and sat down again, closer to him. “Do you have any questions?”

James turned to look at him with those penetrating, steel-blue eyes and nodded slowly, making Q nervous. “When did MI6 start using teenagers to fill in their senior positions?”

Q’s nervous expression quickly soured. “Oh fuck off, will you?”

He got up and grabbed the tablet, rolling his eyes as he walked out of the room, leaving behind a smugly-smiling James.


	5. Chapter 5

Q had lost track of the days.

Perhaps that was the most discouraging thing about all of this. Even though James was remembering more at each session, even though their cover had miraculously remained intact, he’d skipped a day or two—or three—on his calendar, and then given up on the whole thing altogether. He cursed himself for not writing down the date he’d started working here on his laptop. Instead, all he could do was watch the days tick away on the screen, getting more and more miserable and hopeless each day. Even James’s sarcastic quips, which seemed to resurface with every new memory, could no longer lift his spirits.

_ What if I’m here forever?  _ The thought intruded into his mind far too often, making him feel like all of his efforts to free the ex-double-O were pointless.

Q walked into the white room with his head low, unusually quiet for that time of the day. He made a beeline for his chair and set his tablet on the table before he sat down without as much as a ‘Morning,’ or a look towards James.

The agent watched him carefully, narrowing his eyes. It was uncommon for Q to act so sullen, James thought. He sat there in silence and waited for the boffin to start asking questions, but they never came and he was starting to grow worried.

“Q?”

The young man raised his head to look at James, his expression letting him know that he wasn’t very interested in talking.

“What happened? Did they forget to give you your pudding at the canteen?” James teased, cracking a bright smile as he cocked his head sideways.

But he got no response from Q aside from a soft groan.

“Lost your teddy?”

Again, nothing.

“Oh, I know! You had a sudden breakout.”

Q sighed and shifted in his chair. “You’re so funny, Bond.” He murmured, entirely unamused and shaking his head.

Well, at least that was something…Right?

“I know.” The blond replied, smiling smugly. “Your obnoxiously loud laughter tells me so.”

That earned him another one of Q’s eyerolls, which lately featured heavily in all of their sessions. “I’m not in the mood.” He said, shaking his head and turning away from James.

The room was silent once more. James simply leaned back and watched Q lazily, waiting for him to snap at him or tell him off for staring at him like that.

Nothing.

He was starting to wonder if this was Q getting back at him for not answering any of his questions when they first met. No. Q always had a sort of confession in his looks when he was up to something and no matter how much he tried, he could never hide it. But it wasn’t there this time and James was starting to realise that Q wasn’t acting.

The blond slowly stretched his leg under the table until he hit the young man’s leg. Q frowned, but by the time he looked up, James had looked away. Slowly, Q looked down again and once more, James kicked him lightly.

Q looked up, faster this time, but once again, he found James staring at the ceiling while he innocently tapped his fingers against the table. He narrowed his eyes at the blond and slowly lowered his head, keeping him in his peripheral vision. And he waited. Waited for James to do something else, however, the agent was leaning back again with a blank expression on his face.

_ What are you playing at? _

Q couldn’t help but be curious despite how he was feeling, it was in his nature. But Bond seemed to be done playing with him, for he didn’t move again in at least fifteen minutes.

The young man had been expecting something else but finally he got tired. They were just playing games. Stupid games that wouldn’t help them get out of there.

He sighed and looked down at his lap, picking at a stain on his trousers from that morning’s breakfast.

And just when he lowered his guard, James moved faster than Q thought humanly possible and seized the tablet on the table.

“Oi!” The young man protested immediately, rolling his eyes yet once again and turning to face James.

_First victory_ , Bond thought.

“Give it back.” Q groaned in annoyance, reaching for it.

“No.” James shook his head and moved it just out of his reach. “Not until you tell me what’s got you in such a foul mood.”

“Bond…” Q snarled as he got up from his chair, leaning over the table to try and reach the tablet. The tone actually surprised James, but he didn’t let it show. He wasn’t aware there was that kind of power hidden in the young and scrawny Quartermaster. That was the voice of someone who often found himself underestimated and pushed aside, finally breaking free, if only for a second. Their eyes met and realisation seemed to sink into Q, who slowly lowered himself onto his seat, looking at his feet.

James silently set the tablet down on the table and cleared his throat.

“You want to know why I'm in such a mood?” Q huffed, meeting his eyes at last. “It’s because I’ve been here for more than three months, which have been the three most miserable months of my life, by the way. I still can’t see a way of getting us out of here…” He buried his face in his hands and groaned quietly. “We’re going to be in here forever. I should’ve listened to M.” He murmured, his voice muffled thanks to his hands.

Before James could say anything to comfort the young man, Q got up, grabbed his tablet and stormed out of the room. The blond was left there, sitting by himself and staring at an empty white wall. He sighed softly and looked up at the ceiling.

  
  


* * * * *

He had to make a decision.

That was the thought on Q’s mind, a couple days after his outburst in the interrogation room. He didn’t know how to break Bond out, but he couldn’t wait much longer. He had to decide what to do. M wasn’t here to order him around—he, the youngest Quartermaster in MI6’s history, was well and truly running this operation. And he could feel in his bones that it was drawing to a close. Either he stayed here for eternity, or until he was finally found out, or he got James and himself out of this god-forsaken place.

_ But how? _

Q tapped his foot impatiently, as he jammed his key, given to him by the supervisor after his second session with James, into the keyhole in the elevator. The small space, empty except for himself, made him feel both relieved and claustrophobic. He had mixed emotions about the doors sliding open onto the red-orange rock of the lower basement.

Pocketing his key, he clutched his tablet tightly to his chest like a nervous schoolboy. Something was wrong today. He didn’t feel well—he didn’t feel like himself.

Forcing his feet to move, he headed down the hallway, feeling spaced-out. The time was fast approaching for him to choose, and then act, and he for the life of him had never felt so devoid of thoughts. Perhaps it was because of the dreams he’d had last night. The young Quartermaster had seemed to wake every couple of hours, dreams of betrayal, of M, of his two cats and his nice flat circling through his mind until he wanted to cry.

Oh. He was there.

Stopping in front of James’ tube, Q studied him—from the chest up, of course. This was one of MI6’s best agents, if not the best...but also their main source of chaos. Would they thank him for bringing James back, instead of, say, agent Bailey?

Q’s finger hovered over the buttons to begin draining the tube, but then hesitated, staring down the row of tanks towards the still-occupied ones near the wide window. He’d never been down that way. He’d never seen which agents floated, suspended and unconscious down there. Would he recognize any of them, he wondered, if he was to go and look? Perhaps it was better that he never knew who he was leaving behind. But... _ should _ he leave them behind? Could he? He vacillated, stomach churning with the gravity of this decision he had to make. If he escaped from here, there was no telling if he’d ever get a chance to come back and free the others. If he escaped, there was no telling what they would  _ do _ to the others. Would they send them after him, a legion of brainwashed agents whose only aim was to bring him down? Would the organisation destroy them, making Q responsible for the lives of already-dead Double-Os? His head spun with all of the sickening possibilities, and Q knew he couldn’t keep up his poker face out here, not feeling like he was two bloody seconds away from having a panic attack. He needed to go to his room...no. He needed to see James. Even with half his memories still gone, he was levelheaded, completely calm in the face of danger. And surely he’d made impossible choices like this before?

Standing in front of the tube the older man floated in, Q pressed the buttons on his tablet to begin lowering the liquid level, and walked away, waiting for the other scientists to prepare James for another session...potentially, his last.


	6. Chapter 6

“I’m going to break you out.”

James stared at Q for a moment, his light eyes not betraying the surprise he felt, if he felt any at all. He didn’t say anything, wordlessly prompting Q to go on, which he did with a frantic, half-panicked air.

“I just have to figure out how to get past the security systems, and we’re free. And I have to do it soon, because I don’t know how long I can keep this up—I might be found out—”

“Q.” James cut him off in a level voice, meeting the anxious man’s gaze with a more assured one of his own.

“What?”

“You’re MI6’s youngest Quartermaster, right? Something like that?”

“Not ‘something like that.’” Q answered with slight indignation in his tone, his nerves making him touchy. “Exactly like that.”

“Then you can do it.”

Now it was Q’s turn to stare. Out of all the things he expected to come out of James’s mouth, he hadn’t expected reassurance. His brain momentarily short-circuited, leaving him stupidly repeating, “Wh-what?”

“Shouldn’t you be able to get past their defences?”

“Well yes, but—”

“Then calm down,” James said firmly. In case Q had any illusions about meaning something to him, he added, “Or you’ll blow both our bloody covers.”

Q swallowed hard and nodded, knowing that James was right. He hadn’t come all this way to lose control now.

“So think.” The older man persisted. “How can you shut down their defences? What’s between us and the door?”

“Um...” Q racked his brain. “Most of the security in here seems to be computerized—I haven’t really seen any guards. There’s CCTV, but I don’t know who watches it.”

“Does anyone around here carry weapons?”

“Not that I’ve seen. Down here, nearly everyone is a scientist.”

“And on other floors?”

“I’ve only been on one other floor before this, but even then...” Q shook his head. “Only researchers.”

“How did you first get into the building?”

“I was given a keycard...” Digging in his pocket, Q pulled it out, the square of plastic still in nearly-pristine condition. Looking at it saddened him—it reminded him that he’d only used the keycard once, months ago.

“But you don’t know if this will let you out, do you?” James questioned, bringing Q back to the present. He felt vaguely like he was being interrogated.

“No, I don’t know. Which is why—”

“Which is why you have to figure out what security measures are in our way, and how to get past them.” James finished.

Q nodded. “Exactly. But how to do that...”

“You’ll figure it out.” James waved a hand dismissively. “But what’s the plan once you figure that out?”

“Well...I’ll get you out of the tube and into this room before I...do something to shut down the security protocols. I won’t lock the door, so meet me at the elevator. We’ll take it up to the ground floor and just...leave.” It sounded deceptively simple, even to Q’s own ears, and perhaps that part of it was. The hardest bit would be shutting down the entire building’s security...without being caught.

Q suddenly realised James had been silent for a significant amount of time, and he looked curiously at him. The spy’s brows were furrowed in an expression Q didn’t like in the slightest.

“How are we rescuing the other agents, then?”

The Quartermaster’s stomach churned with guilt, and he went a worrying shade of white rather than answering. James’s eyes pierced right through him as he struggled to speak past the lump in his throat.

“We aren’t.” He said for Q.

“I just—” Q swallowed hard, finding his voice although his mouth felt very dry. “I can’t figure out a way to get the rest of them out. Not to mention, they’re still completely brainwashed, and who knows what they would do if we tried to bring them with us?” The justification for leaving the other operatives behind was reasonable enough...so why did Q still feel so horrible about doing it?

“Why did they send you?” James’ voice always had a way of breaking Q out of his more distracting thoughts, and God knows there had been a lot of them since stepping foot in this room. in this room.

“What do you mean?” Q replied, clueless as to where James could possibly be going with this line of questioning.

“You told me you were the Quartermaster.” James elaborated. “And I remember enough to know that Quartermasters always stay at MI6—they’re not field agents. They can’t make hard decisions.” The way he said the last sentence made Q swallow hard. So that’s why he was asking. He’d heard the tremor in Q’s voice, seen his fidgeting hands...he knew what Q was trying so desperately to keep hidden from him. Still, Q made one last attempt to appear strong.

“What does that mean?” He asked, annoyance in his voice. Surely, he tried to convince himself, he’d made hard decisions after coming here. Hell, the decision to go undercover in the first place was…

Was...not that hard, actually. He’d practically been raring to go.

“It means,” James continued, “Don’t let this choice tear you apart. You’re doing what’s best.”

Q took a deep breath before answering. He wasn’t a child, he wasn’t going to get tearful. “But—am I? How do you know for certain?” James opened his mouth, but Q went on. “How do you know there’s not something I’m missing? What if—“

“Because you’re the smartest person I’ve met here so far.”

Q stopped, gaping at the older man. Did James Bond,  _ the _ James Bond, just call him the smartest?

“Besides myself, of course.”

Q continued to stare at James. Then, as if he couldn’t hold back anymore, a bout of laughter burst from his lips. James, who was usually so unfazed, looked surprised, and then concerned, his brows furrowing. Q was cracking, and they didn’t even have a plan yet. If he lost it now, they would never get out of here.

“Hey!” James said sternly, kicking Q lightly under the table again. Q put a hand over his mouth, his shoulders trembling, but not from laughing.

“I can’t do this, James.” He said softly, his voice muffled by his palm. James shook his head.

“I’m not accepting that. Get a bloody hold of yourself, and  _ think _ , damnit!” His blue eyes were icy, piercing through the Quartermaster’s gaze, and Q in his hysterical state focused in on that, holding Bond’s gaze as if he would be lost without it.  _ How did James do that, _ he thought to himself.  _ How did he look at you like he was tearing down every one of your defences? _

A lightbulb went on in Q’s brain.

_ Tearing down... _ every one _ of your defences… _

Q leapt to his feet, startling James for the second time that day. “I know what to do!”

“What?” The other man looked completely confused, but there was a spark of hope behind it. Was Q saying what he thought he was saying?

“I know how to get past them!”

James took Q’s arm and yanked him down, hissing, “Lower your voice!”

“I was so stupid, I wasn’t seeing what was right in front of me—“ Q was already rambling. “I was trying to figure out what security measures we needed to get past, when all I need to do is shut them  _ all  _ down! Shut the entire building down!”

James’s expression had gone from abject confusion to understanding. “Very good, Q.” He complimented, trying to keep the young man brainstorming. “How do you do that?”

“That’s—that’s easy!” Q grinned, confident for the first time in months. He’d done this very same trick before, only it was a double-0 on the field who’d actually executed the plan. “A flashdrive plugged into the main computer. That’s all it takes!”

“Brilliant!” James allowed himself a brief flicker of happiness, before thinking logically once again. “Where’s the main computer?”

“The supervisor’s office. I’d bet money on it.” Q said firmly.

“How do we get in there?”

Q’s face fell at that. “I don’t know. I don’t know if she locks it, or…”

_ Think back to that mission _ , Q told himself. The agent hadn’t plugged the flashdrive in, had he? No...he’d persuaded someone else to do it.

“I have to give it to her.” Q said, standing and gathering up the tablet. He didn’t have time to waste, not even to explain the details of his plan to James.

“What? Wait—“

“I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  
  


* * * * *

“Ma’am?”

The next day, a sleep-deprived Q rode the elevator to the very top floor, his leg bouncing anxiously until he caught it and forced himself to stop. All-nighters were nothing new to him, but he wanted a clear head for this. Still, there was nothing he could have done. Those few hours of potential sleep had been crucial to making the small flashdrive that sat in his pocket.

Now, he knocked politely on the door of the supervisor’s office, trying his best to appear calm, cool.  _ Like a double-0,  _ he told himself.  _ Like James. _

“Ma’am?” He repeated, and the door swung open onto the very stern-looking woman.

“What do you want?”

_ Here you go. Sell it. _

“I have to go downstairs and continue conducting my interrogation of 21,” Q started.

_ Good, good… _

“But I thought you should see this. In fact, I—I think you need to see this.”

The supervisor frowned. “See what?”

Digging the flashdrive out of his pocket, Q held it out to the woman. “I can’t let the researchers downstairs know what I’ve discovered...but you should see…”

The woman hesitantly reached out, looking skeptical in a way that made Q’s stomach churn with anxiety, and took the flashdrive, turning it over in her palm.

“What is this, Masiteri?” She asked bluntly. Q shook his head, looking nervous.

“You just have to see…” he paused, as if he’d forgotten something. “Wait! Wait, I just remembered. The files in there have a lock on them. It won’t open until—“ He took a glance at the tablet in his hands. The time was 9:54 pm. “Until the hour. Until ten.”

The supervisor looked as if she had something to say, but Q cut her off. He just needed her to listen, to believe. “Just—just plug it in then. And then come find me, but only after. Please.”

With that, he turned and began quickly walking back to the elevator, leaving the woman, for once, stunned into silence. As soon as the doors had closed between them, Q took four tries to fit the key into the keyhole with a shaking hand, and then slumped against the wall, breathing hard. If she listened, this place would be total chaos in six—now five—minutes. If she listened. If not, nothing would happen in four minutes...except that he would probably be found out, and he would never help James escape.

When the elevator doors slid open, Q had no time to lose. He made a beeline for the row of tubes along the wall, ignoring the researchers he passed on the way. He was already lowering the liquid levels in the tube before he got there, and when he stopped it was just in time to see James’s eyes open.

9:58 pm. There was no time to lose, now. No more decisions to be made, choices to be considered. He had stuffed a pair of pants underneath the ridiculous vest they made him wear, and as James stumbled out of the tube—9:59–Q shooed away the researchers who approached them and stuffed the pants into James’ hands. He pulled them on, the fabric sticking to his wet skin, and let Q take his arm, pulling him towards the elevator.

“W-What if your flashdrive kills the elevator?”

“I’m counting on it,” Q said, and then everything went black.

* * * * *

In the dim light from the moon, just outside the wide window, Q held fast to James and tugged him towards the elevator as chaos ensued around them, researchers clamoring for a way out, banging at the elevator doors and crashing into each other and their equipment as their eyes adjusted. Q made a hard left at the elevator, and behind a particularly large crag of rock lay a door with a symbol denoting a stairwell. He unlocked it with the elevator key and pulled James into it, both of them running for their lives, taking two stairs at a time until James pulled ahead of Q and grabbed his wrist to pull him along. When they reached a door, Q shook his head, red in the face and panting. “F-first basement. Up one more.”

They ran up again, Q getting dizzy with constantly rounding corners, and it seemed like an eternity, but they were finally at the ground floor door.

Other researchers must have found the stairwell—there was a clamoring behind them, and the unmistakable sound of people running just as quickly as they had. James would have liked to wait at the door, listen for any potential dangers outside of it, but there was no time—he yanked it open and pulled Q through to what looked like an ordinary, unassuming office building.

“Doors!” Q panted, pointing furiously. “That way!” James dragged him the way he indicated, out into what looked like a main lobby, and to Q’s dread two armed men approached them.

Dropping Q’s hand, James didn’t stop for a moment. The young Quartermaster clung to the reception desk and gulped in air, watching with wide eyes as James knocked one man out, and choked the other in what seemed like a matter of seconds.

“Come  _ on _ , Q!” He went back and grabbed Q, and for a moment the young man was relieved—he half thought James would just leave him. But the knowledge that the doors were in sight gave him a second wind, and he was running for them just as fast as his legs could carry him. James kicked them open, and…

Both men stopped, looking up at the night sky, feeling a warm rain begin to patter onto their faces. James still held Q’s wrist tightly, and Q wasn’t even sure if he knew, but he didn’t care. Gasping fresh air into his lungs, Q laughed giddily, not even stopping as James pulled him along, through trees taller than anything Q had seen for a long, long time.

They found a trail and began to follow it, not caring where it went. All that mattered was that they were out. Fuck decisions, Q thought. Right now, there was nowhere he’d rather be than running through the woods under the moonlight with James Bond. 


End file.
